


Promise Me

by D_Veleniet



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur death scene AU, BAMF Merlin, M/M, Merlin's grief, Merthur - Freeform, Old Magic is sentient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Veleniet/pseuds/D_Veleniet
Summary: “But, here, at the end…just you…and me.  The two of us…like always.  No more secrets.”It held the power of a king’s command, and Merlin found himself nodding, an unspoken yes, Sire.  “No more secrets,” he echoed, hoping that confirmed that he’d spilled the last of his.Yet there was something new in Arthur’s eyes, such as Merlin had only ever seen glimpses of:  all the layers starting to peel back, the king shedding the last of his armor.   “Time to be…honest.”





	Promise Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure there are 8 million Arthur death scene AU fics out there, but this idea wouldn't let go. And I wanted to see how Merlin grieves because that was something we never got to see. But yes - in case the tags and warnings didn't warn you - MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Prepare for angst...

“All your magic, Merlin, and you can’t save my life…”

Of course he could.  He would not be defeated by a prophecy, not be defeated by Mordred.  He’d done it before - a hundred, a thousand times.  Just a matter of reaching that lake, if he could just _move_ him…

“I can.  I’m not going to lose you.”

Because it was always supposed to be the two of them, destined to unite the kingdoms of Albion together.  You couldn’t thwart something as grand as _destiny_.   

“Just…just…”  Arthur faltered, and Merlin glanced down at him in alarm, fearing that he was already losing consciousness. 

“Just hold me.”

Not even a command, but a request, tumbling brokenly from his mouth, tentative even.  Arthur twisted in his arms, casting a plaintive look at him.  “Please.”

He made a vague motion that encompassed his shoulders and chest, and Merlin quickly complied, unbuckling his armor with steady fingers and removing it as he had done thousands of times over the years.  Supporting the king to his knees, he then removed his chainmail, hiding his grimace at Arthur’s hiss of pain as it chafed his open wound. 

“That’s better,” he sighed, collapsing back into Merlin.

It was a good idea, and Merlin mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner.  Without his armor, he wouldn’t be as heavy.  Easier to lift him, get him to the lake, get him in the water, heal his –

“Merlin.”

“Shhh.  Don’t talk.”  He sent out his magic, “seeing” the path ahead.  Half a day’s walk at best.  Could he carry him?  Or maybe a levitation spell…

“I need to – I need to say something.”

“You’re not going to say goodbye.”

Did he even _know_ a levitation spell?  Or a transport spell?  Could he call on the wind the way he had called lightning down from the sky?      

“No.”  Arthur shook his head.  “It’s funny…how you don’t see things…”

But would the wind be gentle enough, though?  Merlin remembered the way it had thrown the bandits about in Ealdor, how it had tossed Morgana through the air like a doll. 

Arthur continued, his gaze fixed on the ground.  “Things that are right there, all along.  In front of you.  Staring you in the face.”

Merlin shifted his hold on him, restless in his exposed lies.  “I told you I was good at keeping a secret.” 

Was there an additional spell to calm a whirlwind?  Or could he just create a breeze?  Would a breeze be enough to lift him? 

“I didn’t mean that.”  And now Arthur turned in his arms again to look at him.  “I meant…you.”

Merlin blinked, his world narrowing to the blue eyes that stared so openly at him now.  “Me?”

“You…”  Arthur’s breathing grew more laboured.  “Have always been there.  At my side.  With me.” 

“I was born to serve you.  That was always my destiny.” 

“So you were destined, then, to always be by my side?”

Merlin nodded.  “Since the day I arrived in Camelot.”  He managed a weak smile at that.  “The day we met.”

“Then…”  Arthur had to take a breath.  “Then maybe it was _my_ destiny…to always be…at _your_ side.  To always…be with you.”

Merlin frowned at that.  “But I chose to stay with you.”

“And you don’t think _I_ chose to stay with _you_?”

There was something churning inside of Merlin, something gathering at the edges of his consciousness.  Something he dared not look at.  “I was a good servant.”

Arthur let out a laugh that was followed by a pained groan.  “In some respects, you were the best servant a man could ever ask for.  In others...”  He gave a small smile that was endlessly fond, humour dancing in his eyes.  “You were quite possibly the worst.”

Merlin tried for a smile and lost, forcing down the lump in his throat.  “But I was your friend.”    

“Yes…”  Arthur let out what sounded like a sigh.  “But, here, at the end…just you…and me.  The two of us…like always.  No more secrets.” 

It held the power of a king’s command, and Merlin found himself nodding, an unspoken, _yes, Sire_.  “No more secrets,” he echoed, hoping that confirmed that he’d spilled the last of his.

Yet there was something new in Arthur’s eyes, such as Merlin had only ever seen glimpses of:  all the layers starting to peel back, the king shedding the last of his armor.   “Time to be…honest.”

That churning started again, and Merlin was all of a sudden overcome with a memory of a time many years before that, when he and Arthur were being chased by something – some _one_? – he couldn’t remember – but they had reached a chasm that Arthur had leapt across without a second thought, and Merlin had stood, gaping at him, frozen to the spot, the chasm yawning before him, seeming to grow in distance before his eyes, and Arthur had called out to him.  But instead of chiding him for being such a _girl_ , or yelling at him to hurry up, he’d _looked_ at him, some strange mix of certainty and panic in his eyes, and he’d told him he _had_ to leap, that he _would_ be okay, that _he had no choice -_

“It…was _always_ …you.” 

Blood roared in his ears, even as he told himself that he didn’t know what that meant.  “Not always.  You hated me at the beginning, remember?”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked.  “I never hated you.  Though…you probably hated me, the way I treated you.”

“No,” came Merlin’s choked reply.

A trace of humour reappeared in Arthur’s eyes.  “Not even when I was being – according to _you_ – ‘an arrogant prat?’”

Merlin shook his head vehemently.  “I still never hated you.  You clotpole.”  The insult-turned-endearment broke in half inside his mouth, and he had to take a steadying breath.  Then - only because his king might be uncomfortable, twisted as he was, and definitely not because he needed something to occupy himself with - Merlin shifted his position, settling him back so he was supported in the crook of his arm, almost cradling him. 

He didn’t think of how it would be impossible to lift him now, let alone carry him. 

He also didn’t think of how Arthur had not once taken his eyes off of him.

But Arthur was nothing if not determined, and he reached a hand towards Merlin’s face, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet that piercing blue gaze.

Something pulled taut inside of Merlin, a cord stretched to its breaking point. 

He couldn’t have said how his hand came to rest on Arthur’s, his fingers curling entirely of their own volition inside the palm of the other man’s.  His head followed suit, freed from his will, tilting into the caress like a cat, eyes daring to shutter closed for a moment. 

Arthur’s other hand slipped up Merlin’s chest, bringing their heads closer together as the weight tugged Merlin’s head down, bowing to his king.  Arthur's gaze traveled south of his eyes, briefly flicking to his lips before darting up again, indecision written plainly across his features.  And Merlin was back at that chasm, as the unbridgeable gap stretched between them as one only Arthur could close.  But in the next moment Arthur’s body was suddenly wracked by a violent shiver, his head dropping to his servant’s chest, gasping.  “Cold.”

Merlin acted quickly, carefully positioning Arthur against his bent leg whilst he shrugged off his jacket, draping it around him.  But Arthur was shaking his head. 

“Closer.”

It made sense, given his continued shivering.  There had been many a cold night where necessity called for bodies to be pressed together side by side, or even front to back.  Laying Arthur gently down in the grass on his side, Merlin positioned himself behind him.

“No…”

Merlin started to apologize, turning over onto his back, when Arthur voiced a demand he’d heard many times over the years, usually coloured with impatience, with barely contained fury, with exasperation and a dash of fondness -

“Come here.”

Yet now it was quiet, and coloured with such vulnerability it took Merlin's breath away.

Uncertain if he’d heard right, he crawled over to him, peering down to see Arthur’s eyes flutter open.  “Come here, Merlin.”

Ignoring the hammering of his heart, Merlin lay down so he was facing Arthur, inching forward so he could gingerly place a hand on his king’s waist.  But Arthur seemed to know what he wanted, his hands stealing up around Merlin’s neck again, using that as leverage to pull himself in until he was flush against his body.  A blush spread over Merlin from head to toe at the shock of the full contact, but he tried to focus on what his king needed which, clearly, was warmth.  So he hooked a leg over Arthur’s, intertwining them together, hoping it would help. 

A warming spell – that's what he needed.  Did he know a warming spell?  Could he remember it?  And, more importantly, could he recite it correctly when Arthur was clenching his caught leg between his calves like he would never let it go?

Then Arthur broke the silence.  “Promise me…something.” 

Merlin's reply was automatic.  “Anything.” 

“Find…someone.”

That churning returned, dangerously close to the surface, prompting him to offer one of his many well-worn rebuttals.  “I don’t need anyone.”

And then Arthur was pressing his forehead into his like it was the only place he wanted to be, pushing into him like they could meld together.

“Find someone… _else_.”

And there it was.  The thing Merlin had never dared look at, never acknowledged, always in the background.  The excuses he had piled on over the years:  _I don’t have time; I have to fulfill my destiny; I don’t need anyone_.  How he had convinced himself it was because of Freya:  how he had liked someone and lost them and vowed his heart would never again be so foolish.  That he hadn’t been able to move on from her. 

Lies, every one of them.  Lies he had recited so many times that he believed them, had convinced himself of them.  Lies to protect himself from the glaring, painful truth… 

He could have found time; he could have _made_ time.

He could have fulfilled his destiny whilst allowing himself the occasional pleasures.

He was no different than anyone else and deserved not to be alone.

He had moved on long ago from the loss of Freya, and, somehow, when he wasn’t looking, he’d lost possession of his heart…

Because his heart was not his to give.  Not when it was already so completely, so _utterly_ and irrevocably taken.

Now something tore, plunged from a great height and shattered inside of him, his carefully constructed defences crumbling with it as he let out a sob. 

He shook his head, the motion brushing his forehead against Arthur’s.  “Can’t,” he rasped.

“Promise me.”

He had to fight to get the words out, his throat was so choked, his heart in his mouth.  “It’s always been _you_.” 

He felt the minute tightening of Arthur’s fingers around his neck.  “Even when I treated you…badly.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”  And now Merlin snaked another arm around him, needing him close, needing all of him, needing him, _needing him_ -

“I hit you.”

“Yeah…”

“A lot.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”  Arthur let out a sigh.  “I’m sorry.”

“Shhhh.”  And Merlin pressed a quivering kiss to his temple, not trusting himself to speak because didn’t he understand?  He would take a thousand days more of moody Arthur, peeved Arthur, pissed Arthur; he would take a hundred more buckets of dirty water over his head, ten thousand more slaps and cuffs around the ears.  He would have it all, take it all – Arthur, with all his many faults – Arthur the Prat, Arthur the Dollophead, The Cabbagehead, The Clotpole, Loyal Arthur, Brave and Noble Arthur, Arthur, the Greatest King the World Had Ever Known, his Arthur – _his Arthur_ -

“Think…I wanted…didn’t…know…how to…”  The words were starting to become nonsensical, trailing off.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open.  “Arthur?”

His response was a shudder - faint, warm air ghosting across his face.  Then there was a hitch in Arthur’s breath, like he was waking up, and Merlin pulled back just enough to see the glint of those sky blue eyes on him once more, no longer glazed by delirium or fever but holding steady and true.  And shining with raw, unabashed emotion.

“Kiss me…?”

And Merlin was once again back at that chasm, Arthur beckoning him to jump again.  But this time there was no panic, no hesitation, the uncertainty only for Merlin’s response – and the butterflies that accompanied the anticipation of such a dizzying leap.  Nonetheless, Merlin’s hand shook as he cupped Arthur’s cheek, anchoring himself, those few inches a seemingly interminable distance as he closed them.  The first press of their lips against each other robbed him of breath, of thought, awakening something inside of him as it collected and fused together with an almost audible _click_ , his magic rising up and singing, bathing his insides in warm, golden light.  Arthur echoed his gasp, his hands tightening around his neck, stealing up to his hair, fingers grasping at him, his mouth opening to receive him as if Merlin’s kiss was the breath of oxygen he needed to revive himself.

But then the fingers lost their grip, sliding down his face and falling to the ground.

Merlin could feel the instant the lips beneath his slackened, how there was no response, no breath left.  But he couldn’t stop, continuing to press into that beloved - _beloved_ mouth, breathing into him like he could breathe that warm, golden light into Arthur’s lungs, send that spark of life he needed, like he could jumpstart Arthur's heart now that he knew he had always been its true owner.  Gathering Arthur to him, closer and closer, he willed him to return that hold, to respond, to breathe, to hold on, to stay with him, to come back -

To come _back._

It was what finally broke his hold on him, finally let the sobs overtake his body, finally let loose the wail inside of him, his anguished cries dissolving into the name of the man still captive in his embrace, calling it over and over again, a mantra that would summon him, return him, restore him to Merlin.  And then he let loose a roar that summoned the great dragon to him, a last effort to fight magic with magic. 

Kilgharrah was of no use, delivering the news that there was nothing he could do in a quiet rumble laced with regret. 

" _I can't lose him_!"  Merlin shouted in defiance, like a dragonlord's shout alone could somehow bind the great dragon to reverse it all.  "He's my…"  And he broke off, trembling fingers brushing against the cooling skin of Arthur’s forehead as he pushed back some of that fine, straw hair.  “He’s my whole life.”

There were some pronouncements of Arthur as the Once and Future King, who would return when Albion's need was greatest.  And after a few rumbled words of comfort, Kilgharrah was gone, leaving Merlin alone.

Arthur would rise up again.  Arthur would return.  For the kingdom, of course, for Albion, for Camelot -

_But what about me?_

It was so unusual for him that he almost startled himself with the thought 

Then his gaze fell on the man in his arms, his finger lightly tracing the contours of his face:  over the brows, down that Roman nose, around the cheeks, outlining the square jaw, fingertips ghosting across those lips which had captured his only minutes before.

“ _I_ need him…what about what I need?”

His answer floated up from the blades of grass underneath him; in the chirping of the birds in the trees above, in the whirring of the insects around his head.  Beneath the faraway movement of fish gliding through lake water, whispers rose up from the hidden magical creatures that roamed its depths: 

_You are Emrys. You are Magic. You are the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth, who will bring change and freedom.  You are needed by many._

Of course.  Try to remember that he still had a purpose in life.  Remember people depended on him.  Counted on him.  Magic was still banned; he could help lift it.  Show that magic wasn’t a thing to be feared, work with Gwen – ( _Guinevere the Queen, the Ruler of Camelot now_ ), demonstrate how much magic could help.  That it was derived from light, not darkness.  And he breathed it in, letting it wash over him, feeling how natural it was as it seeped into him.  So much life around him.  So much life, so much _life-_

Until a scream ripped from his throat that shot firebolts into the heavens, a forbidden display of power that stretched for miles on end, scattering the birds and the insects and the animals.  Lightning crackled above and around him, through him –

 _If I am Magic, then this is ME._  

He fell to his knees and pounded the earth, the ground shaking like a great beast lay trapped below, clawing at its chains to free itself and consume the very world that held it prisoner. 

_THIS IS ME._

But no – it was – it was Morgana - _Morgana_ who had done this -

_THIS IS ME!_

_-_ and he whirled around, thrusting his hands out in front of him, flames bursting forth, casting a fiery wall out into the fields, the trees, his magic roaring without and within as the flames sought to burn her, _burn_ _what's left of her_ \- for her part, for forging the sword in a dragon's breath, for letting her bitterness poison all around her, for _hating_ so much that she had succeeded in destroying who he loved most in this world –

But there was Old Magic at work here, and it responded in kind, breaking the flames so that they dissipated into a fine morning mist, stopping his onslaught before it caused any damage. 

Spinning around, he saw the mist rising off the lake – _the lake that could not heal Arthur_ – and his magic surged up again in retaliation.  Yet the wisps of mist trailed towards him, swirling around his arms, his legs, and he found himself slowly lowering his raised hands in resignation.   It reached his face where he was surprised to discover that it was warm, vibrating with a gentle humming sound, seeking to comfort. 

_Enough tragedy here, Emrys.  Enough destruction.  Mourn.  Grieve.  But no more._

The mist curled around Arthur, lifting him into the air.   

_The king is dead.  Though he was no friend to magic, he shall have a proper burial._

Defeated, Merlin followed the slow procession down to the water’s edge, his mind numbed to everything but the crunch of grass beneath his feet.  Hours and hours they walked, the clouds parting to reveal the afternoon sun shining down as they finally reached the lake. 

There, Arthur was gently lain in a boat, the mist evaporating into the air and leaving Merlin alone once more.

“So…”  He let out a shaky exhale.  “Just you and me.  To the end, Arthur.”  Standing felt too formal, so he dropped to his knees, landing in the lake with a soft splash.  "I don't really know what to..."  He had to take a deep breath.  "I don't really know what to say.  So I'm just going to say this.  I'm not...I'm not going to find someone else.  I was never interested in that – I’m not gonna start now.  And I can't let you..."  A sob threatened to overtake him.  "I can't let you...go.  Not yet.  And - I don't know if I ever will.  But I can...I can help build the kingdom we were supposed to build together.  I can help Gwen.  I can work to ensure that sorcery is more accepted.  That we don't have to hide who we are anymore."  He reached a tentative hand out, cupping his forehead.  "I don’t know when, but...I'll make it happen.  I can promise you that."

Clouds were gathering overhead, casting a somber shadow over the lake.  Merlin leaned forward, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.  "Kilgharrah said you would rise again, when Albion's need was greatest.  When you do...I'll be waiting."  He pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's forehead, his lips tasting salt as his tears leaked onto it. With a few murmured words, he sent Arthur out into the lake, to his final resting place.

Hands clamped around his knees, he watched the boat recede until the mists of Avalon swallowed it.  But he didn’t move from his spot, ignoring his wet breeches as the water lapped at his boots.  He stared until the sun completed its journey across the sky and dipped beyond the horizon, until the sky tinted orange and pink and then darkened to purple.  It was only then that he struggled to his feet, shivering in the night air and began the long trudge back through the fields. 

But he was a creature of magic, and it was with him.  And thus the Old Magic snatched the last of his message, bandying it about until its echoes seeped into the ground, saturated the air, and sunk to the bottom of the lake, sounding something like hope.

 _When you do...I'll be waiting._   

* _Fin*_


End file.
